


dreams (have nothing on my reality)

by Rumourhasit



Series: years and change (after the end of the world) [1]
Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, settling into peace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21725800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumourhasit/pseuds/Rumourhasit
Summary: It’s months - years and change - after the end of the world and against all odds, Lio is happy.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Series: years and change (after the end of the world) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591003
Comments: 38
Kudos: 327





	dreams (have nothing on my reality)

"Lio - " 

It’s halfway between a plea and a cry, almost lost in the breathless whimper that follows. A tongue darts over parted lips - kiss-swollen and bitten red. A breath below a heaving chest, just out of reach, Lio Fotia settles more comfortably between the firefighter’s legs. Idly, he adjusts his grip on Galo's erection.

“Hmmm?”

He makes sure to keep his voice soft, casual. With a smile that’s borderline disinterested, Lio dips his head to drag his tongue along the tip of his cock. He feels Galo’s groan before he hears it, toned thighs trembling beside his head. 

_“Lio - “_ he says again, breath coming out in short pants. Leo raises his head just in time to see blue eyes gloss over with _want_. _“Fuck - “_

The crimson of the sunset peeks through the window, painting across Galo’s skin. If Lio squints, it’s almost as if he’s swallowed by flames - burning, _burning_ just for him.  
They’ve only arrived home fifteen minutes ago, the takeout for dinner abandoned on the doormat. There’s a haphazard trail of clothes from the shoe rack to the bedroom, tugged off by impatient hands and eager teeth.

(Lio prides himself in his ability to self-compartmentalise. To prioritise and maintain composure under most duress.  
But after locking the door, Galo had helped him out of his coat, fingers stupidly big and gentle on Lio’s shoulders. As he leaned closer, his collarbones had peeked out from under his top - bearing half-healed, familiar bitemarks - and suddenly, waiting until after dinner was an impossible task.)

Their eyes meet, burning blue and hazy violet. Shifting closer, Lio noses at Galo’s hip, scraping the nails of his free hand along one trembling thigh. On the edge of his clouded vision, he sees the muscles of those glorious biceps tense with the effort, nails no doubt digging grooves into his palms.  
There's nothing keeping Galo's hands behind his back - no clever knots around his wrist, no handcuffs chained to the bedpost. The only thing keeping them there is Lio's words, whispered in Galo's ear in-between tugging his belt loose and shoving him down on the bed.

_Hands behind your back. Don't move until I tell you to._

Lio glances up just in time to watch a bead of sweat trickle down Galo's neck, catching in the dip of his collarbones. In his hand, his dick twitches eagerly.

“Lio - “ his boyfriend rasps, spine arching forwards when the former Burnish rewards him with a lazy stroke. “Shit, you look - _so good_ down there...“

Heat races down Lio’s spine, making him squirm. He presses closer, tongue chasing a bead of pre-cum. “Tell me what you want, Galo.” 

“I - “ Hips buck under his touch, chasing after the heat. Greedily, Lio watches Galo’s throat bob with a hastily swallow. “I wanna touch you.” 

Strange priorities for a man so clearly desperate for release. If his resolve wasn’t already so threadbare, impatient to get his mouth on the other, he would have insisted that Galo be more specific in his pleading. 

_After dinner,_ Lio decides. There was still plenty of hours left in the day. 

“Touch me, huh?” he says, tightening his grip just a fraction. He allows the other’s cock to press against his cheek, smearing a sticky trail in its wake. “Do you want to grab me by the hair? Pull on it while you fuck my mouth?” 

A moan tears itself free from the firefighter’s mouth, his toes curling into the sheets. Hiding a smirk against heated flesh, Lio makes a grab for his hip.

“Can you do that for me, Galo? Will you be a good boy and fuck my mouth, just how I like it?” 

“Yes, yes, _yes_ \- “ comes the gasped reply. “Please, Lio, _please_ \- “ 

“Come on, then. _Touch me_.” 

There’s a sharp hiss - and then fingers are cradling his jaw, warm and mostly-steady. A thumb strokes across his lower lip with familiar adoration and Lio can’t help but lean into it. 

“Lio,” Galo breathes. He sounds stupidly soft and reverent and suddenly, it’s hard to breathe, his chest and stomach in knots. Lio’s eyes flutter shut as fingers brush at his bangs - and then nails are scraping against his scalp, yanking his head back with a sharp tug that sets his nerves aflame.  
He thinks he groans an encouragement, giving the other’s erection a messy lick before swallowing him down. Galo’s fingers tighten in his hair before his hips snap forwards and Lio’s vision goes fuzzy. His hands find purchase on a narrow waist as he presses his nose against a heaving abdomen, revelling as his lover’s cries rise in both pitch and volume. His jaw aches with familiar strain as Galo makes good on his promise, robbing him of breath and composure with every thrust.

All-too-soon, the tugs on his hair become frantic, a warning gasped out between moans and incoherent cries. Tightening his grip with renewed determination, Lio lets his moans spill free as he swallows, blinking his tears back. Like beautiful clockwork, Galo stiffens above him, hand gripping the back of his neck as he spills himself across Lio’s tongue, voice cracking with bliss.  
It’s scalding, overwhelming and _perfect._

Things get a little hazy from then on. Vaguely, he registers being pushed on his back, big hands holding him steady. There’s a tongue against his chin and then his lips, lapping him clean. Fingers close around his cock, too-hot and perfect, just as that clever mouth descends on his chest. The scrape of teeth against a nipple has him clawing at the sheets, voice hoarse as he tries to articulate what he _needs_. 

“I got you.” a voice rumbles against his chest. There’s a tongue licking a wet stripe up to his neck, a warm breath on his ear. “I got you, let go - “ 

Lio comes with Galo’s name on his tongue and his nails in his back, leaving red marks in their wake. When the world stops spinning and he eases his eyes open, their legs are entwined and Galo is hovering over him. At Lio’s inquiring hum, he just grins. 

“You have such a pretty mouth.”

It’s not the first time Lio’s been paid that particular compliment. But from Galo - all sleepy eyes and sated smile, thumb tracing the swollen curve of his lower lip - the words are terribly sweet in a way that shouldn’t be possible.  
He blinks, throat suddenly a little too-tight. He finds his tongue tied in knots, to match the state of his heart. So instead, Lio curls against that broad chest, fingers searching under the covers until he finds Galo’s waiting hand. 

-

They do get up, eventually. 

“Did you plan this?” the firefighter asks as he takes a seat. He accepts Lio’s offering of chilly beef with a grin. “Is that why you wanted to get Chinese?”

Lio gives his boyfriend an odd look, fork halfway to his mouth. “...what does _that_ have to do with anything?”

“Chinese is one of the takeouts that’s still good after the microwave.” Galo says, as if it was _obvious_. 

“...Aren’t microwaves pretty...universally successful in heating up cold takeout?”

“Hell no!” comes the scandalised reply. “Pizza is only good fresh out of the oven, or cold. Nothing in-between!”

He nods, completely serious and Lio’s chest aches with helpless adoration. 

“...I’ll take your word for it.” 

\---

It’s months after the end of the world and against all odds, Lio is happy. 

\---

Galo does a lot of things for him. 

He makes breakfast on the weekends, using twice the amount of eggs recommended for every dish. He makes sandwiches out of leftovers every evening, slipping them into Lio’s pockets when he’s distracted. He explains the mechanics of his too-complex washing machine over and over again, leaving a coloured reminder on the dials with a Sharpie. He helps make lists of all the paperwork you’re supposed to own as a credible human being and strokes his hair when Lio takes a break in the application process to scream into a pillow. He enlists Aina before driving them to the mall _again_ , insisting that Lio _definitely_ needs more clothes. Later in the supermarket, he valiantly defends Lio’s honour when Aina tries to explain that 3-in-1 beauty products were the _worst_ despite their efficiency (seriously, who the hell cares about _sulphates?_ ).  
He’s there after days where everything goes wrong, when the evening news leaves them both silent and sour. He’s there when Lio is shaken awake by another nightmare, warm and wonderfully grounding. He’s there when the former Burnish inevitably succumbs to fever and nausea in the colder months, worry visible under his cheer and bravado.

It’s a lot, sometimes. 

“You don’t have to keep doing these things for me, you know.” he tells Galo so on a Thursday afternoon. The sun is high in the sky, rays scattering off the faux-crystal spice shakers. As if on cue, a waiter appears to place a steaming plate between them. 

“Things like what?” Galo asks, spoon already in hand. His brows furrow. “If you didn’t feel like curry, you should have said so!”

“No, it’s not - “ Lio begins, words stuttering as he scent reaches him - spicy and unfairly delicious. On instinct, he mirrors Galo’s movements, grasping at a fork. “It’s not that. It looks great.” 

“It’s _amazing_.” Galo says, enthused. He nudges the basket full of naan bread onto his side of the table. “Me and Varys had an eating competition here last year. Aina had to take me home ‘cuz I was too sick to drive at the end, but I was still back the next day for lunch.”

Lio shakes his head, unable to bite back his smile. “That’s high praise indeed.” _Focus, focus._ “It’s just - this is the third time this week you’ve brought me out to lunch.” 

“Yeah?” The words are already muffled by a mouthful of rice. “You still haven’t gotten to try half of the _good_ places yet!”

This seemed to be a great source of distress for the firefighter - Lio’s lack of experience in certain culinary delights. Such as taco stands, Korean barbecue and fast-food french fries dipped into ice cream. And now, Indian curry.

“I’m just saying, you don’t have to.” Lio says, insistent. Between the never-ending restoration projects and growing demands of the job, Galo barely has time to breathe these days. He didn’t need to spend his lunch breaks driving Lio back and forth in the city in an attempt to catch him up with all he’d missed. 

(The first few weeks after the end of the world, when everything was - when _they_ were - new and shiny, he would have understood. But months afterwards?) 

Galo just shakes his head, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “I want to, though.” he says with a smile and a little shrug. Like it’s just that simple. “You deserve nice things.”

Sirens wail in the distance, barely audible above the music playing through the restaurant’s speakers. Lio barely notes the way his tongue burns as he shoves the spoon into his mouth, heartbeat loud in his ears.  
 _Like it really was just that simple._

(You’d think it’d be less of a shock to the system, hearing it for the dozenth time.)

Galo waves the spoon in his direction, seemingly oblivious to Lio’s impending heart attack. “And besides, this way, I know for sure that you’ll actually eat lunch. Instead of spending _twelve hours_ in the same office without a break!”

“That was _once_.” the former Burnish protests. Underneath the table, his foot nudges against Galo’s calf. “You lose track of time the one time and no one ever lets you forget it.” 

-

_You deserve nice things._

The words rattle around in Lio’s head long after their meal, lurking between his thoughts as he wrestles with the day’s Stack of Infuriating Forms. The memory of Galo’s smile simmers in his bones during the drive back home, arms wrapped tight around his lover’s waist. It lingers as he tucks himself under the blankets, watching Galo get ready for bed. He peels off his sleeve, draping it over the back of the chair. In the dim lamplight, every scar is is sharper, a decade’s worth of history scattered across his upper body. 

_You deserve nice things._

_Yes,_ he thinks with sudden ferocity. When the firefighter sinks onto the mattress, Lio’s on him in a heartbeat, hands curling into messy blue hair as his legs lock around Galo’s waist. _Yes, yes, yes you do._

He’s welcomed with an _‘ooof’_ and a forehead pressing against his. “Hi.” Galo says, hands already finding their way to the curve of Lio’s ass. “Was gonna switch the lights off first.”

“Leave it on.” With a very deliberate roll of his hips, he presses closer. “I wanna see you.”

He sees Galo’s eyes go dark before his lips are claimed, calloused hands tugging his hoodie open. (Galo’s hoodie, stolen and claimed months ago. He had his own sweatshirts now, more appropriately sized - but who was he to deny his boyfriend the pleasure of stripping Lio out of his own too-big clothes?) 

“You like the view~?” Galo croons into his shoulder, tossing the hoodie off the bed. He leans back, muscles flexing deliciously with the motion. 

A stupid question, really. You’d have to be blind not to like the view that was Galos Thymos, in his perpetual half-naked glory. Working under the same roof was a hazard most days - it was a struggle not to _stare,_ to resist the overwhelming need to _touch_ the skin on display.

Lio lets his eyes wander - rather shamelessly - before moving to kiss the smirk off the other’s lips. A few well-placed smacks along toned thighs and a graceless fumble in the drawers later, Galo’s on his back, flushed and pliant. His body trembles as Lio’s fingers twist deeper inside him, moans imploring him for _more_ and _another_ and _hurry, Lio, fuck -_

“Do you like that?” he murmurs against his throat. His boyfriend is still a little damp from the shower, skin flushed a pretty crimson. “Does that feel good?”

Galo’s head jerks with rapid confirmation and fuck, Lio wants to give him _everything_. Teeth against his ear, he curls his fingers in a way that he knows will send Galo thrashing, moans morphing into a cry. He tilts his head, angling for a kiss and Lio indulges him, pulling away only long enough to hoist his legs higher. At the first roll of his hips, Galo yields to him beautifully, clenching hot and maddeningly tight. He chokes back a curse.

_“Ah - “_

Galo sucks in a sharp breath, clenching around him. When Lio meets his gaze, his expression is stupidly soft. 

“So pretty,” he breathes. As Lio is distracted by the bob of his flushed throat, fingers find their way into his hair. “So pretty like this - “

Fuck _nice things_ , Galo only deserves the _best_. 

Nails painting possessive lines across his muscled abdomen, Lio settles into a pace that soon leaves them both panting, stealing kiss after kiss from eager lips.

“You feel so good,” he moans against a reddened ear, giving the lobe a nip for good measure. “So good for me, Galo - ” 

He thinks of the scent of Galo’s uniform jacket, all smoke and brand-store body wash. He thinks of the casual hands on his hip in the kitchen, the kisses pressed against his forehead _for good luck_ before the rescue team sweeps out of the station. He thinks of blue eyes, hooded and too-bright between Lio’s thighs as he swallows his cock down eagerly. 

Underneath him, Galo sucks in a noisy breath, one hand gripping the headboard for support. His chest is heaving, nipples peaked and Lio can’t resist the urge to take a bite.

“You’re always so good for me, aren’t you?” he purrs, words muffled by damp skin. He traces an unhurried path up the firefighter’s chest with the tip of his tongue, keeping his grip firm on that trim waist. Galo’s collarbone gets a nuzzle, his shoulder a brief kiss. 

“Gorgeous.” Lio whispers. His lips linger over the scar tissue on his arm, each kiss accompanied by praise. “You’re doing so good, Galo, you’re taking me so well - “

Galo _keens_. His cock bobs against his stomach, desperate and leaking. _“Lio - “_

“Look at you,” Lio breathes. Their hips snap together again, sparks bursting across his vision. “You’re close, aren’t you?" 

There are fingers clawing at his arms in reply, voice tinged with delicious desperation. “Fuck, _please_ \- “

“Are you going to come for me?” He doesn’t wait for a coherent reply, fingers slipping around Galo’s erection. He pumps him in time with his thrusts, feeling the familiar heat coil in his abdomen. “C’mon, Galo, _come for me -_ “

And Galo does - eyes squeezed shut and lips parted with a helpless cry, shaking arms winding tight around Lio’s neck. He only clings tighter when Lio’s breath stutters with Galo’s name, back arching as he comes moments later. 

Three dozen kisses and a haphazard attempt at a clean-up later, Lio curls up against Galo’s back. His arms wind their way around his boyfriend’s waist, legs slotting into place with practised ease. 

“Good boy.” he whispers against the back of his neck. “You did so well. My good boy.”

\---

It’s months after the end of the world and against all odds, there’s a place in it in Lio’s shape. 

\---

Lio thinks he does a lot of things for Galo too.  
(He tries, at least.)

He makes coffee on the days Galo sleeps in, carrying it back to bed at the tell-tale signs of waking. He keeps studious maintenance of Galo’s motorbike, noting every scratch and strange engine splutter. (He doesn’t mention it often, but Lio misses his own bike something fierce.) He learns every anniversary and birthday, meticulously memorising everything Galo ever expresses wanting. He texts whenever he’s going to be late and he responds to every message, even when the haphazard spelling gives him a headache. He takes blurry pictures of dogs on the street to show over dinner. He goes grocery shopping and manages to cram a week’s worth of food in just two bags, much to the cashier’s horrified fascination. Despite his woeful lack of experience in housekeeping or handling domestic machinery, he does his best to help chase dust bunnies and keep the kitchen counters clean.

Despite what people might think, Galo is fairly easy to live with. He’s cool with Lio’s hot water-hogging habits and leaving the occasional sock on the floor. He’s incredibly transparent about his wants and needs, always offers spoonfuls of his desserts and readily (enthusiastically) allows Lio to use him as a personal heater. The only thing he refuses to do is get rid of the spiders - something the former Burnish is perfectly happy to do. (Somewhere in the depths of his newly-acquired phone, there’s a picture of his too-tall boyfriend cowering on a table that he will never delete.)   
Still - between Lio’s struggles with technology and with adjusting to a Promare-less body, Galo ends up doing the lion’s share of cleaning. He doesn’t seem to mind, but that doesn’t quite help the _guilt_. 

And so, when a meeting with Ignis keeps Galo late at the station, Lio rounds on the washing machine with nervous determination.

He spills detergent all over his feet on his first try, prompting a lot of cursing and hopping around. A hasty cleanup and a painstaking sorting process later, he gives the myriad of cycle options a bleak stare. 

This was ridiculous. He is the former Mad Burnish leader, Freeze Force’s worst nightmare. He’d organised laundry supplies for a whole camp of Burnish before - a basket full of shirts, socks and underwear for two people shouldn’t be _an issue_.   
(Except there had been mothers and people a decade his senior who knew how this worked and led the way. And there had been a river and soap and fire at his fingertips that rivalled any dryer. It was all very straightforward.) 

Lio glares. The dark chromed mouth of the washing machine yawns at him, decidedly unimpressed.

Things don’t improve from there. The machine rattles and creaks with the cycle, much louder than it should. When he scrapes the clothes free an hour later, their boxers are covered in shredded bits of tissue. Worse still, Galo’s well-loved shirt is suddenly much, _much_ smaller than it should be.  
Heart pounding in his ears, Lio stares at the now kid-sized shirt. With cruel timing, the front door swings open. 

“I’m home!” comes the cheerful exclamation, keys landing on the table. Within a panicked blink, Galo strolls in the room, hair mussy with exhaustion. Their eyes meet and Lio’s grip tightens on the ruined shirt. 

“I think I...“ he begins, nausea gripping at him with cold hands. “...the programme was probably too hot and - “

“Hey.” The firefighter’s voice is soft. He crouches down easily, denim-covered knee bumping against Lio’s. “Don’t sweat it. Come, I’ll help you hang them up.”

He doesn’t ask as they drape their socks over the radiator, thankfully unaffected by the blunder. He doesn’t ask as they reheat the leftovers, and Lio is grateful. He’s not quite sure how to voice the uncomfortable tightness in his chest - the nausea that always comes with making mistakes. He’s never been graceful with errors - and the years of living as an outlaw people depended on only made it worse. He knows it’s stupid, to taste the beginnings of panic in his mouth over a shrunken shirt, but he can’t help himself. 

_I didn’t do it on purpose_ , he wants to say as he slots his plate in the dishwasher. _I can do better, I promise._

Galo’s arms are around his waist before he can sit on the couch, pulling him down into his lap. A chin moves to rest on top of his head.

 _I know_ , the embrace seems to say, perfectly snug. _I know._

\---

It’s an odd thing, permanence. 

He cannot quite remember the last time he had a permanent residence - or so many possessions, all gathered under one roof.  
It’s easy to get swept up in the everyday - the never-ending tasks of rehabilitation and reform, courtroom warfare and the burning immediacy of _no milk and toilet paper_. But sometimes, he’d catch sight of his toothbrush - neon yellow plastic propped against Galo’s blue one - and it’s enough to give him pause. 

It’s an odd thing too, this flavour of cohabitation.  
People seemed surprised when they moved in together after the dust settled - some dubious, others concerned. From Aina’s cautious inquiries to Meis' blunt questions, everyone seemed to have an opinion - and a few worries.

 _“Are you sure this isn’t too fast?”_ Aina had asked, hands deep in pockets and leg bouncing with a nervous twitch. 

_“You know, you could have a place of your own, Boss. Might be good, after all this.”_ Meis had said, fingers fiddling with his hair. _“Get that privacy you couldn’t before.”_

Lio supposes he could see the point. They were practically strangers, after all, having met only a week before the end of the world. But between the Promare and the Burnish communities scattered from his awakening to the present, Lio hasn’t truly been alone for a very long time. And facing this whole new world - standing on all-too-human feet, fingers cold and mind occupied by his voice only - is not something that he wants to do alone.

(He doesn’t want to just put this all on Galo, to claim that the firefighter wouldn’t take no for an answer when it came to living arrangements. Why would he leave Lio to his own devices, he had insisted, when he had a perfectly good apartment with all this space? Even though that’s exactly what happened, Lio can’t really claim to just be a passive participant in the matter.  
He also wants to offer a level, reassuring answer to those who ask, truly. But it’s a little difficult to put the assurance he felt from _melding his mind and soul together_ with the firefighter into...comprehensible words. It’s just - a feeling, without much weight or shape, like a lick of a flame before it’s lost to the sky.  
A feeling that this is the right choice - the right place, the right person. That with Galo, he could do anything.)

At the end of the first week, there had been a lot of curious glances, a lot of casual questions posed over locker doors and steaming mugs. At the end of the second week, Lucia had lured him into her workshop, pointed questions hidden underneath a myriad of professional enquiries _(how did the Burnish armour work exactly? Did he have designs? Could he create designs? If she tinkered with this existing flamethrower, would it have the same effect? Would it work with Galo’s Matoi tech? How were things with Galo, anyhow, he was looking a bit peaky this morning - )_

At the end of the third week, Remi’s gaze had lost its tense edge, his greetings a shade warmer. During lunch, Aina had aimed pointed looks his way, trying to determine just _how many times a week_ the two of them have takeout for dinner and have they heard of these things called pre-packaged vegetables? _(“Honestly, you are as bad as he is, pass me your phone for a sec - “)_

At the end of the first month, they’d had their first fight. There was a lot of shouting about debts and favours and _what good am I now_. Galo had called him an idiot at one point, eyes wild and unhappy. Then it was over almost as quickly as it started - with _trust me_ and _please_ and _thank you_. They’d fallen asleep on the couch an hour later, Lio gripping the firefighter’s hand in a vicehold.

At the end of the sixth week, they'd bumped into Ignis in the supermarket. They were debating between two different flavours of frozen burritos, their basket filled to the brim with on-sale canned soup. Ignis gave them a slow look, expression inscrutable behind his sunglasses, before telling them there’s a promotion on toilet paper.  
(Inexplicably chastised, Lio grabbed a salad box before they joined the queue.)

At the end of the second month, Varys had asked when they were getting invitations to the housewarming party. A week later, Lio had given up on trying to get the grease stains out of the couch, a tragic victim to the pizza-eating contest that reached its dramatic conclusion 2am. Galo had thrown a brightly-knitted blanket - a gift from Ignis - over it and they’d considered it a success. 

It’s three days shy of ten months and Lio’s making coffee in the Burning Rescue kitchen. There’s a bright pink mug in the sink that has been designated as his, and the motions - _fridge, cupboard, spoon_ \- come without thinking. Aina bounds in between his second and third spoonfuls of sugar and suddenly, they’re talking about his impromptu hiking trip through the Promepolis woods last Saturday. 

(This is a _thing_ \- small talk. A _thing_ that _happens to him now_. People - non former-Burnish people - linger, seek him out, all to ask how his weekend was or what he thought of the game last night. _It’s wild._ ) 

“You’re free for the barbecue next Sunday, right?” Aina asks, bumping the fridge door shut with her hip. Behind her, a bright green note reminds them both that Lio’s on kitchen garbage duty in two weeks’ time. 

“I’ll have to check my calendar.” Lio says. It’s such a terribly mundane sentiment and its novelty still sparks something terribly warm in his chest. 

“It’s not optional!” Aina reminds him, eyes gleaming with a very tangible threat. She shakes a spoon in his direction. “You’re both going to be there, or else!”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Lio says. 

(The fact he means every word is a mild surprise at best.)

\---

Galo calls him a lot of things. 

He’s _his partner_ to the bored-looking officials at the bank and the news channels’ cameras. He’s _his beloved_ to the pink-haired teenager working at the flower shop and the kind cashier at the bakery whose matcha cakes Lio adores with a passion. He’s _his special friend_ to the children perched on his shoulders and hanging off his arms, all wide eyes and open mouths. (Galo attracts children like a beefy magnet, whether lounging in the park or visiting the ex-Burnish settlements. They flock to him like sunflowers towards sunshine and Lio understands completely.) He’s _his great challenge_ to the people at the gym, seemingly oblivious to their poorly-concealed smiles as they watch the two of them loudly compete over various equipment. (Every week, Lio swears he won’t let himself be goaded next time - what does it _matter_ who can run an imaginary lap the fastest on the treadmill, honestly? They both know all it will amount to is an unwanted audience, stinging ribs and aching legs that he’ll regret the next morning. And yet, all it takes is for a cocky look and a challenge for that promise to go flying out the window.) 

Then there are rarer ones, used only on occasion. _Firebug_ gets bought up amidst reminiscence of the past, accompanied by soft eyes and a hand through his hair. _Boss_ gets echoed when hanging out with Gueira and Meis, twisted with his mocking attempts to imitate their accents. Remi had once called them _‘fated rivals’_ at one point on a lark and Galo had latched onto it with enthusiasm.  
But mostly, Galo calls him by his name - Lio, _Lio_ , Lio capital-F-Fotia. The full-name always rings with unironic sincerity, whether they’re in front of fifty reporters or in the supermarket’s pasta aisle.  
It’s funny, in a way. He would have definitely pegged Galo as a nickname-type of guy, the kind that invented ridiculous names for everyone, stubborn in their use until their begrudging adoption.

Names, Lio has come to discover, are important to Galo.  
What seemingly _isn’t_ important to Galo, Lio has also come to discover, is _sleep_. 

“Galo.” he groans as the firefighter shifts position _again_ , the constant movement of his foot making the mattress vibrate. He is not one to talk about healthy sleeping habits but it’s been a long week and he’s near-lucid with exhaustion. “Cut it out.” 

“Sorry!” comes the whispered response. Three precious minutes later, there’s an elbow against his arm and the dip in the mattress snatches Lio back from the edge of sleep again. 

_“Galo.”_ he attempts again, voice rising with exasperation. Rolling on his side, he plants himself firmly against Galo’s back. “Babe, if you don’t stop squirming, I’m going to kick you _off the bed_. _”_

If he was more awake, he would have heard his boyfriend suck in a sharp breath - would have felt the twitch in those glorious biceps as he stilled against him. As it stood, all Lio can manage is a grateful murmur against the back of his neck before he passes out. 

-

He’s halfway through his first coffee the next morning when he notices Galo’s stare. 

“...what?” Lio says, tilting his head. Seven uninterrupted hours had done wonders for his worldview. He swears he can hear birds chirping outside their window. 

“Babe.” 

Coffee sloshes over his fingers, serenity shattered by his spiking heartbeat. He likes to think he replies with a _‘Huh?’._ In reality, the noise he makes is only a distant cousin to a coherent word.

“You called me that last night.” Galo leans forwards, as if sharing a precious secret, blue eyes sparkling. The morning light paints him in pastel colours, glowing and unfairly beautiful.

With some effort, Lio swallows the cocktail of coffee and heart palpitations down. He sets the mug down on the table. 

He considers saying _I did?_ , ignoring the guilty flush in his cheeks. _It got you to stop squirming, didn’t it_ is another option, accompanied by an appropriately pointed gaze.

“I did.” is what he says in the end, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweatpants. (Galo’s sweatpants, thrice-folded fabric bunching around his ankles.) 

His boyfriend’s smile widens and Lio knows it was the right answer. 

“Do it again.”

\---

“Do it again.” Galo slurs. His pupils are blown wide open, fingers gripping the pillow for dear life. A flush stains his skin from cheek to neck and Lio can’t resist mapping the crimson trail with his mouth. 

“Greedy.” he murmurs against a shoulder, hips snapping forwards. He tightens his grip around the other’s cock, matching the strokes of his hand to the rhythm of his thrusts. He’s rewarded with an arching spine and a choked-back cry of his name. “Just like that. You’re doing so well, babe.” 

Galo grinds back against him and Lio sees stars. 

“Do it again - “ 

\---

It’s months - years and change - after the end of the world and against all odds, Lio is home. 

\---

“So, Boss.”

“We’ve been talking.” 

Eyebrows raised, Lio pushes the milk carton across the table. “God help us all.”

There’s a tip of a boot at his ankle before Meis is shaking his head, grin unwavering. “We were just saying that it’s been a while, really.” 

“All them anniversaries and double dates and _dinner parties._ ” Gueira chimes in, with a tone one reserves for events of the utmost importance. “Isn’t it about time for him to buy you somethin’ big and sparkly?”

Lio blinks.   
He thinks of the frequenting conversations about getting a bigger place, of the apartment listings open on Galo’s tablet. He thinks of his now complete china set, collected over the years from charity shops and sale sections. His designated mug, in three separate kitchens in the city.   
He thinks of the animal shelter he walked past last week, of the puppy he spotted behind the glass who would fit into Galo’s massive arms (and heart) perfectly.  
He thinks of the piece of paper, scrunched into the bottom of the trashcan, bearing absentmindedly-scribbled variants of their two last names in Lio’s handwriting. How he had actually weighed the merits of _Fotia-Thymos_ and _Thymos-Fotia_ against each other for a good few seconds before the mortification had set in and he’d banished the evidence into the bin. 

A phone rings in the next room, jarring him back into reality. The clock ticks on the wall cheerfully and his two former generals are still staring at him expectantly. 

Lio sniffs. Raises his mug to his lips, as if the movement would hide the pink spots on his cheeks. “I’ll be expecting a very nice food processor as a wedding gift. Just so you know.” 

Meis’ laugh is drowned out by Gueira’s obnoxious cackles. There’s a creak of chairs before a twin set of hands are smacking against his shoulders, warm and excited. 

“Really though? A food processor?” Gueira has the cheek to say as he catches his breath. “Kitchen Aids are where it’s at, Boss!” 

\---

There’s a bright red circle around next Thursday. 

It gives Lio pause, barefoot and hairdryer still in hand. Green ink was for shifts, blue ink was for meetings. Pink ink was social engagements (or orange highlighter when that particular pen went missing). Red ink was _important things_ \- anniversaries, birthdays, milestones.  
It takes a minute. The realisation leaves him wide-eyed and a little flustered. 

“I don’t think this deserves a red circle in the calendar, Galo.” he calls out. Right on cue, his boyfriend pokes his head out from the bathroom. 

“What are you talking about it?” comes the indignant question, punctuated by a flapping towel. “It’s Detroit Mark Two’s birthday!” 

Of course he’s already named Lio’s future bike. He’s absolutely perfect. 

Lio shakes his head, doing nothing whatsoever to tamper his grin. After months and months of studying, tests and saving up for a custom model that was _just right_ , the reality of having his own motorbike again is finally within reach. “I can’t wait.”

“It’s going to be _awesome!_ ” Galo says, enthused. He pads across the living room and Lio meets him halfway, hairdryer abandoned on the couch. “And I was thinking that a beauty like that deserves a proper welcome.” 

His hair is still damp, a curly mess against his neck. If Lio stands on his tiptoes, he can gather them up into a ridiculous little ponytail. “Oh?”

“We should go for a little trip over the weekend. Ride the bikes out to the desert.” Warm fingers splay out across the small of his back. “What d’you reckon?”

There’s a twinkle in Galo’s eye, a spark dancing with anticipation. Behind him, there’s a time marked in the calendar in blue ink, three days from now, right next to the estate agent’s phone number. In the bottom of Lio’s drawer in the next room, hidden under four layers of jackets and hoodies, there’s a little velvet box, waiting for the right opportunity.  
Underneath their feet, the world turns - solid, alive, beautifully unpredictable - and Lio Fotia couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow would bring. 

“Sounds perfect.”

\---

AN:

I started this after my second viewing and finished it a little after my third. Merry Christmas and god bless this movie. 

Title is from [Poets of the Fall's Temple of Thought](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sK-CX04JAtQ). Hope you guys enjoyed - any thoughts are super appreciated <3 

  
  



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